


Romance

by fujoshism (fancypineapple)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Pretentious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 23:08:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10545908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancypineapple/pseuds/fujoshism
Summary: [Originally posted on February 14, 2014]College AU. Jongdae likes reading and silence. He's not sure if he likes Zhang Yixing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> repost from my LJ comm fujoshism, originally written lj user wrinkledheart as part of chenpionships, uh, whatever round that was. due to LJ's new terms of use, my old fic comm will be deleted soon, so i'm hastily backing everything up. originally this fic had some fancy html tables but they couldn't be transferred to ao3. honestly, i don't think much was lost at all.

They meet for the first time at two in the afternoon in the campus cafeteria. Usually at that time, no one but sports teams and study groups are there, getting their late fix of kimchi and namul; Kim Jongdae is one of the few exceptions, member of the select group of grad students that can postpone lunch just so to enjoy a calm, relatively quiet space to eat. So he does, and eats at his own pace, reading a page in between each bite.

He likes the silence. He likes the peace. He likes letting himself sink into the book, slowly and peacefully.

Therefore, he hates being interrupted.

The clang of a tray on the table yanks Jongdae out of the book, out of its delicate word constructed around dreams and reality, and he raises his eyes to glare at whoever made such sound. Sitting directly in front of him – as if he was a friend or something similar – is an absolute stranger, a man with light brown hair and full lips and a distant, sleepy feel to his eyes.

“Sorry. May I sit here?” The stranger asks, smiling sweetly, as if defying Jongdae to be rude and say no. It’s tempting to do so, indeed, but Jongdae is meek and a man of manners, so he shrugs.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters with inaudible venom to his voice. The stranger fails to notice it, and starts to eat.

Since the man eats without making noise, Jongdae has an easy time ignoring him. He’s just getting into the book once again, catching up with the words as if pulling a thread off a silk sheet, when the man abruptly yanks him back once again.

“I’m Zhang Yixing,” he says.

When Jongdae raises his eyes this time around, he’s a little more interested. The words ‘Zhang Yixing’ had a completely different flow from the rest of his words – practiced, familiar with the strange syllables. It’s the first time Jongdae meets a foreigner on campus. “Kim Jongdae,” he offers back noncommittally, browsing the man’s face more attentively. “Where are you from?”

It takes a second for the man – Yixing – to answer. “I’m from China,” he says, the words intelligible, but clearly practiced. “Changsha. And you?”

Jongdae lets out a chuckle. “Siheung, Gyeonggi province.”

“Oh,” Yixing says vaguely, nodding, and looking at his face is enough for Jongdae to know he has no idea where that is.

Silence falls upon them.

Jongdae goes back to his reading. Yixing eventually finishes his food, gets up, and leaves, bidding goodbye so quietly that Jongdae unintentionally ignores it.

Never to be seen again.  
is what Jongdae wants to believe.

 

 

 

It’s the same scenario. Two in the afternoon, cafeteria close to closing, Jongdae eating the same meal as the week before and reading the same book. He might even have the same clothes on, since he doesn’t really have much variety in his small dorm-room closet, and he really likes the sweater he’s wearing. It’s all the same, like most days in Jongdae’s life, a routine only broken by his trips into the books.

And it’s truly regretful when, just as Jongdae is walking along with the protagonist through the house of a goat-footed faerie, one that seems to have done something terrible, there’s a clatter in front of him and he snaps out of it, bursting like a soap bubble. Jongdae looks up, and reels.

It’s him.

“Good afternoon, Jongdae sshi,” Zhang Yixing greets, smiling with his chopsticks in hands. Jongdae can barely believe his eyes. In the back of mind, he notices that his portion of kimchi is considerably larger than the regular one, possibly even larger than the double one. “We ended up meeting again!”

Jongdae discreetly looks around. There are at least five empty tables around him – big, small, near the window or by the counter – and yet, there is Yixing, sitting right across him and battling against a particularly floppy piece of kimchi. Jongdae is annoyed. And curious. Also, he belatedly realizes he hasn’t greeted him back

and hopes an acknowledging glance will suffice, for he’s in no mood for conversation. He’s _reading_. The book he’s holding over his face should be enough of a sign for people not to disturb him! Huffing silently, Jongdae turns his attention back to the book, chewing distractedly on a piece of spinach.

This meeting is even plainer and more forgettable than their first. There’s no talking, and Yixing makes no sound at all while eating, so it’s easy for Jongdae to forget about him. He only remembers that there’s someone else sitting with him when Yixing gets up, tray in hands – and this time, he departs with no words, but with a simple smile that says his goodbyes for him.

And Jongdae gets the ominous feeling that it also says ‘we will meet again’.

 

 

 

It did, indeed. Same day next week. Same hour, but with a slight change in the menu, one that Jongdae doesn’t lament nor celebrate. Same place. This time, however, Jongdae is wearing a jacket, and reading a different book, but it makes little difference; Yixing comes anyway.

He sets the tray down much quieter this time. He also doesn’t say ‘hello’ or ‘good afternoon’ like he did in the previous occasions. To Jongdae’s annoyance, the silent arrival attracts his attention all the same, as if Yixing’s mere presence made sound, and he pauses his reading to take a peek at Yixing over the rim of the book.

He almost falls off his chair when he sees what he sees. He does burst in laughter, though, visibly startling Yixing.

“ _50 shades of gray_?” Jongdae says simply, pointing at the book Yixing is holding. Because, yes, not only has Yixing brought a book along this time, it is none other but the infamous erotic book. Yixing blinks, confused. “Do you _know_ what kind of book this is?”

“I’m studying Korean,” Yixing retorts by way of an explanation, still confused. “Also, yours is like mine, isn’t it?”

Jongdae gasps. “As if!” He holds up the book in his hands – a paperback volume of _Wuthering Heights_ – and shakes it a little for emphasis. “This is a classic! The most romantic book in history! The fact that you just compared it to _50 shades_ harms me in a personal level.”

“Sorry,” Yixing smiles, not seeming sorry at all. “Do you like romances, Jongdae sshi?”

Jongdae eyes him with suspicion, searching for a hidden meaning in that question, but all he sees is Yixing’s casual smile. Then, he shrugs. “I guess so,” he answers, finally, and goes back to reading without saying anything else. He hopes that his gesture will be enough to put an end to their talking, and that Yixing will be as quiet as he has been their previous encounter.

And his wish is granted. For a long while, they’re immersed in quietness, and Jongdae allows himself to get lost in the narrative of the book. He can’t help but to think it’s nicer like that; it’s like, since Yixing’s thoughts are somewhere else, the atmosphere becomes quieter between them. Yes, it’s really nice. Almost like being alone.

It’s a long moment before the silence is finally broken; the slide of a chair, the clatter of chopsticks on plastic. Yixing gets up with his book under his arm and his tray balanced on his palms. “You should try reading this one,” he suggests, his grin laced with subtle cheekiness. “It’s interesting.” Jongdae scoffs.

“Next time we can switch our books,” Jongdae offers, raising his brow in disdain, but with his lips curved in a small smile. “You’ll never want to touch _50 shades_ after reading this one.”

“Deal,” Yixing’s smile widens. “See you, Jongdae-sshi.”

“See you, Yixing.”

It’s only after Yixing is long gone that Jongdae realizes two things.

His food has gone cold.  
He said ‘next time’.

 

 

 

 

Next time does come, and they do switch books, but it turns out Wuthering Heights’ grammar is a little too complex for Yixing just yet. On his turn, Jongdae reads bits of _50 shades of gray_ aloud, making funny voices for each character commenting acidly on some word choices and plot points. Yixing laughs all the way through it, to the point that his entire face becomes red, and Jongdae repeatedly pokes his dimples.

“Huh? I thought this was an off button! Why doesn’t it work?” he says as he jabs his finger into Yixing’s cheek, and Yixing is laughing too much to swat his hand away.

And then, from then on, Jongdae smiles at Yixing every time he arrives at his table, as well as when he bids goodbye, and finds himself minding the other man’s presence less and less. Even though he’s _still_ reading that horrid book.

“You should pick up a shorter book,” Jongdae comments offhandedly one day, eyes not even leaving the book he’s reading. “And a better one, too.”

It’s like he can hear Yixing’s smile. “When I finish this one, I will.”

Jongdae groans in discontentment. Yixing chuckles, and turns the page loudly.

 

 

 

Before Jongdae takes notice, it has been one month and a half since he has met Yixing every week – every Wednesday – at the cafeteria. It has been one month since Yixing, a complete stranger to Jongdae, has silently invaded his routine and made himself part of it. When it finally hits him, as he’s getting dressed in the morning and vaguely wondering if Yixing has finally either finished or dropped _50 shades_ , it hits him like a scare. He has been talking to this same guy for six weeks and he doesn’t even know what he’s majoring on. Hell, he doesn’t even know his _age_.

Though, perhaps Jongdae knows why. He realizes it while waiting for the bus, book in front of his eyes, but mind too distracted to pay proper attention. He knows why he doesn’t know much about Yixing.

Because the only times they’ve talked, it had been about books.  
And the rest of the time was spent in silence.

No personal questions.  
No casual conversations.  
No ‘how are you today?’.

Yixing probably doesn’t know Jongdae’s age either, or what he’s studying, or what his hobbies are, besides reading, or what he aspires to work with in the future. Jongdae has poked Yixing’s cheeks and made fun of him, but he doesn’t know what his favorite color is. It strikes Jongdae as odd, so he makes a decision.

For lunch that day, he foregoes the book.

It’s the first time in a long while that he does so; the first time since his friends drifted away from him. Without the book, he can actually take a proper look at the cafeteria, observe details before unseen, like a crack on the wall next to the restroom doors, and the trees outsides that are a bit overgrown, not letting quite as much light go through the front windows as they should. He has, for a long time, ignored the material world in favor of fantasies, of stories of magic and adventures and love that lasts forever. Being back – truly back, not like when he’s at classes, barely focusing on the lecturer’s voice, or when he’s on his way home – feels like reading a brand new book he has never heard of.

He’s thrilled. Not in a bad way, but not in a good way either. He’s merely anxious, feeling unguarded without a book to immerse himself in, to protect himself with. It’s all but a feeling he’ll have to deal with.

All of sudden, Yixing invades his camp of vision, and Jongdae jumps unnecessarily high. His body coils defensively, noticeably so, which makes Yixing’s smile fade for a minute.

“Sorry,” he says, eyeing Jongdae with some concern. “Did I startle you?”

 _Yes_ , Jongdae could say. _Nah, it’s cool_ , is another thing he could say. _You’re still reading that!?_ would be possibly what he’d follow up with.

But he has decided to make a change.

“Yixing,” he starts off, not bothering with honorifics, as he never did. “How old are you?”

Yixing, who’s sitting down and positioning his book for the reading, blinks. “Twenty-one,” he says.

“And what are you studying here?”

“History,” is the answer. “Asian history.”

“And what’s your favorite color?”

“Uh… b…black?”

“And what do you like to do?”

“Uh… singing,” Yixing lets out a cute chuckle, apparently surprised by the amount of questions, but not opposing to it. “Piano. Movies? And, uh,” he rises _50 shades_ in the air. “Reading.” He laughs.

Jongdae glares. “Put that down,” he commands, and Yixing complies, his smiling turning cheeky as it usually does when he does what Jongdae tells him. “Also, finish it already, will you? But well, anyway…”

“Can I ask you questions too?” Yixing cuts in before Jongdae can think of something else to ask. It catches him by surprise – he forgot to count that factor in, the possibility that Yixing, too, might be curious.

“Um… sure,” Jongdae complies, figuring it’d only be fair. Yixing’s smile is full of brilliance.

 

 

 

So, Zhang Yixing is a twenty-one years old history major, born and raised in Changhsa, Hunan, People’s Rebublic of China. Came to Korea to complete his studies and to study Korea’s in depth, meets Jongdae only on Wednesdays because it’s the only day his afternoon classes start later. He likes singing and playing the piano, even though he has never formally learned it, as well as reading and watching movies. He can also play the guitar and, for no special reason whatsoever, perform a cartwheel. His favorite color is black and he likes pretty much any kind of music, but seems to have a soft spot for sappy love songs. He’s also insistently reading through the _50 shades_ trilogy, despite discreetly expressing distaste for how dysfunctional the main relationship seems to be.

“It doesn’t feel right,” he comments, wrinkling his nose at a passage. Zhang Yixing also happens to be slightly adorable.

“I’ve told you already,” Jongdae jabs his index finger on Yixing’s forehead. “Stop. Reading. This.”

Yixing merely pouts, and Jongdae has the sudden urge to slap him. It’s not a feeling of annoyance, but it’s an agitation that makes him want to make Yixing stop pouting.

“I want to finish it. My first Korean book.”

Jongdae wallows in disgust. “I can’t believe your first book read in Korean will be _50 shades of gray_. I refuse to call you my friend.”

Yixing, knowing he doesn’t mean it, just smiles. His smiles seem strangely… small this time. Contained. As if he’s holding something back. “Jongdae sshi.”

Jongdae hums back to signalize he’s listening, distractedly playing with a soybean sprout, swaying it from side to side with aid of his chopsticks.

“We should go out together sometime, don’t you think?”

The sprout stops swaying.

Jongdae’s face gives nothing away. It’s perfectly blank, pensive. After a short while, he shrugs. “Fine. Where should we go?”

“Movies!” Yixing suggests animatedly. “Or dinner. Or… library?”

Jongdae beams at that.

“You know me so well,” he lets it slips from his tongue, and, because Yixing laughs, he laughs too.

 

 

 

Meeting Yixing at the cafeteria on Wednesdays is part of Jongdae’s routine.  
Soon, going out on dates with him becomes part of it too.

They go to the library whenever they can, where Jongdae insists in picking ‘better reading material’ for Yixing, which none of them ends up buying. They also go to the movies together twice; once to watch a horror flick, through which they remain frighteningly placid, and the second time to watch an action film, which has both of them gripping at each other’s elbows in panic. They go out specifically for dinner once, when a famous Italian cantina nearby is having a special all-you-can-eat day, and both of them eat much more than what they can keep in.

Most of the time, though, when they don’t go to the library, they just meet up and talk. Sometimes they’ll meet at the park near the biology building; some other times, at the small green area near the pool. Then, they’d sit down and just talk, talk, talk.

Yixing, with some difficulty, tells Jongdae about Changsha. It seems to Jongdae that every time Yixing talks about China and his life in China, it becomes harder for him to use Korean to express his thoughts. _He must really miss it there_ , Jongdae catches himself thinking once when Yixing was telling him about how his grandfather used to be a honky-tonk piano player. He tells Jongdae about everything; from the food in Hunan to what his favorite childhood toys were, to how his mother played the scariest prank ever on him and it somehow involved a bowl of raddish. Jongdae finds himself immersed in Yixing’s as if it were one of his books, but more palpable, more involving, since it involves Yixing’s clumsy accent and sweet smiles.

In exchange, Jongdae tells him about his own childhood, about the books he read, his days at school, the friends he once had but who weren’t close enough to him to last through graduation, and anything else he could think of. Jongdae had never told anyone so much about himself, and more often than not he found himself drawing a blank, unable to think of anything interesting to tell. His own life seemed much bleaker than Yixing’s. Therefore, he mostly talked about his books.

“I like fantasy novels,” Jongdae points out, and Yixing nods.

“Like Twilight,” Yixing exemplifies, apparently thinking he got that right. Jongdae’s eye twitches all so slightly.

“Not quite like that? But yeah,” each one of them has a milkshake in hands. Jongdae’s is vanilla with chocolate sauce; Yixing’s is plain Neapolitan. It had been the first time Jongdae had seen anyone make a milkshake out of Neapolitan ice cream, and, surprise, it actually tasted quite good. “I like romance too, actually. Like Wuthering Heights, and Pride and Prejudice.”

“Ah, I’ve read that one!” Yixing exclaims, eyes wide in excitement. “It’s really nice!”

“Yeah, I liked it as well,” Jongdae smiles at him. “You should try reading it in Korean. Since you alrady know how the story goes, it’d be easier for you.”

Yixing pouts. “There’s no fun in that,” he mutters, glancing down at his milkshake and drinking a small gulp through his straw. Jongdae has to control himself not to grab his face and just _squish_ it. Yixing is an oddly adorable one. “So that means you’re romantic, right, Jongdae sshi?”

Jongdae frowns. He directs his frown to Yixing, who’s unwavering. After a moment of frowning, Jongdae relents. “I guess you could say so.”

“Have you ever dated anyone?” Yixing’s eyes glint as he says that, and his expression seems to light up. Genuine interest. Jongdae feels his face heat up all so slightly, and laughs.

“Obviously not,” he says. “My human relations are cut to a bare minimum. You’re my closest friend in years, you know.”

… it wasn’t his intention to say something so sappy, to be honest.  
But it’s true, so well.

Yixing looks… luminous. More than he usually does, when he smiles in happiness at something and his entire being seems to light up. “Hm, but… do you have anyone you like?”

Jongdae tilts his head to the side in confusion. “As in, right now?” he asks, and Yixing nods. “No… not really. You?”

Yixing nods again.

It takes a second for it to sink. When it does, Jongdae widens his eyes.

“You what!?” he widens them as wide as he can, so to express his shock and make a funny face at the same time. The result is satisfactory: Yixing chuckles. “Yah! Don’t laugh! You like someone?! And I didn’t know?”

“You do now,” Yixing points out. Jongdae clicks his tongue.

“Sure, whatever. Who is it, though?” A pause. Jongdae frowns. “Do you even know anyone else in the campus? Like, do you even talk with anyone else?”

Yixing shakes his head firmly, still smiling his stupidly bright smile, blinking at Jongdae with big eyes as if he was asking for something.

And this time it takes much,  
much longer to sink.

 

When it does,  
it does with a clang.

Jongdae blinks, his eyebrows up in surprise. Yixing is still looking at him with that expression. An expectant glance. Waiting for Jongdae to understand.

Slowly, Jongdae raises his index finger to point at his own face, still dumbfounded.

“Me?”

Yixing nods again, much more happily.

He looks like he doesn’t have a worry in the world, but he’s still waiting for Jongdae to react properly. Yes or no. Take or leave. Stay or go. Jongdae is confused. Did he understand correctly what’s going on?

“You… like me?” Jongdae asks tentatively, testing the waters, watching Yixing for any and every reaction.

Yixing nods again. It’s _infuriating_.

“Yixing,” Jongdae says, his voice a mix of desperation, confusion, apology. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to think.

“Don’t worry about it,” Yixing says, waving his hands in dismissal. “You don’t need to say anything! But I like you.” Yixing blushes. Visibly. Jongdae wants to die. “Thank you for spending time with me.”

Few minutes after that, after they part at the entrance of the dorm area, Jongdae feels like every step his takes weighs a ton. He feels like he’s carrying something terribly heavy on his back.  
Someone else’s affection.

 

 

 

 

 

Jongdae grabs lunch earlier on Wednesday.

It’s hell. The cafeteria is crowded, and he meets with a lot of semi-friends – people he has taken extra credit with and such – with whom he’d rather not force himself to have a conversation. He misses the quietness and freshness of that same place at two in the afternoon, but he’d rather not face Yixing today. Not just yet.

Feelings of love – whether they’re friendly love, filial love, or romantic love – are heavier than iron shackles. Jongdae has always thought that affection comes with too much responsibility, too much trouble, to be worth it. Love is too harmful. Inviting love in is suicide.

It’s what Yixing did. He let himself love Jongdae.

He’s a fool.

Jongdae holds back his tears. He’s horribly frustrated. Yixing truly is a force to be reckoned with; impossibly candid and positive in everything, from forcing himself to read a terrible book just to study Korean, down to confessing to him quite straightforwardly, face to face, and not faltering for a single second.

Quite honestly,  
it’s impossible for Jongdae not to like someone like Yixing.

It pains him to admit it. It pains him, but it doesn’t make it any less true. Yixing is funny. He’s cute. He’s friendly. He’s pure, and selfless, and harmlessly mischievous. He’s handsome, too, and his accent is cute, and the sounds he makes when he’s watching something risky or scary are plainly adorable.

But more than anything, Yixing reached out to him.

Yixing was the one who sat at his table without his permission, and managed to do so regularly, for weeks before Jongdae talked properly to him. Yixing could see Jongdae through the protection of his book.

Through his wall.

And maybe _that’s_ why his confession weighs so much. If it were someone else, Jongdae would be able to brush it off relatively easy, with nothing but some awkward moments.

But he can’t brush Yixing off.  
And he doesn’t want to.

 

 

 

It’s two in the afternoon in the campus cafeteria. Usually at that time, no one but sports teams and study groups are there, but Jongdae has been there all the time, since his second term, when he realized he wasn’t ready to make friends just yet. Sitting alone and isolated, away from the other people in the room, Jongdae was a presence easy to be ignored.

But that’s not what he wants for himself anymore. He doesn’t want the silence, or the peace, or to be let alone with his book all day.

He wants to live a real adventure.

So he takes two hours to have lunch. How does he do it? Using an old trick he has learnt in his years there; pulling out a book, and eating a bite in between pages. Right in the middle of the packed cafeteria. He did attract some weird looks, but they came and went and Jongdae failed to notice them. He had to do that. He’d wait for Yixing.

When he notices that their usual time has striken, he becomes so restless that he can’t read. He sighs, putting the book down, and resigning to playing with his vegetables until a familiar figure appears at the entrance.

The smile blossoms involuntarily on his lips.  
And that might as well be a sign he’s making the right choice.

Yixing has an unusual look on him; he looks even more distracted than he already does usually. More than that – he looks a little tired, too. Jongdae has never seen him so disheartened, and has to resist to the urge to call his name. He has to wait. His heart beats a little harder in his chest.

Yixing finally spots him at his usual table  
and it’s like sunbeans descend upon him immediately.

“Jongdae sshi!” He skips the service, skips the food altogether, and rushes his step to reach Jongdae’s table soon. Jongdae is just sitting there, a grin on his lips. Yixing finally reaches him, warm as always. “I’m sorry for saying that so sudden yesterday. I shouldn’t have been reckless.”

Jongdae raises a brow. “Nah. It’s cool.” He gestures for Yixing to sit down, which he does. “I should’ve known since the beginning. After all, you approached me out of the blue one day, right here in this cafeteria. Hm, hm,” Jongdae shakes his head. “Fishy.”

Yixing lets out a chuckle, a string of embarrassed ‘hehe’s, and Jongdae almost loses it. “I wanted to meet you,” Yixing confesses, and, once again, his blush is painfully visible. “I wanted to get to know you. You were always alone everywhere, reading books. I wanted to try to reach you.”

And Jongdae’s chest swells, and swells, and swells.

“Yeah,” he takes a deep breath. “You should be thankful I can’t think of you as creepy. I mean, I did at first, but,” he shrugs. “It feels like we met ages ago.”

“Five months,” Yixing says immediately. Jongdae raises his brows in awe, but makes no remarks on it.

“If this were a book,” is what Jongdae says, instead. “I’d use this moment to say something cool. Like this,” he sits up straight, clears his throat, nurses his expression into a mocking-serious scowl. “Since you’ve told me what you feel so directly… I can’t help but to give you a direct answer as well.”

The effort Yixing puts in holding back his laughter is painful to watch. It doesn’t resist for long either, because he bursts in laughter at the same time as Jongdae does, dropping the act completely.

“Alright, but this is real life,” Jongdae says. “And I think it’d suffice for me to say that… I’d really like us to have more dates.” He grins, trying not to blush – that’s clearly Yixing’s role. “Like the ones we had so far.”

Yixing’s face falls immediately. It erases the grin from Jongdae’s face.

“But…” Oh no. That voice. It’s Yixing’s sulky voice. “But I want to kiss you too…”

Jongdae’s face turns red, slowly but surely. Goddamn it. Yixing is a fatal weapon.

“Well, I’m not saying you can’t kiss me!” Jongdae is quick to add, but his voice comes out a little too loud, and he ends up attracting the attention of some members of the football team. He ignores them, but lowers his voice. “I’m not saying you can’t kiss me. Or, you know, do other stuff. Like holding hands and all!” Jongdae beams, hoping that’s enough of a confession. “I’d like it too. So.”

Yixing nods. Soon enough, a quiet chuckle escapes from his lips. “We’re a bit lame.”

“Not lamer than _50 shades of gray_ , that’s for sure,” Jongdae rolls his eyes, brushing his foot against Yixing’s as a sign of affection. “Also, where did you even learn that word?”

Yixing grins. “I like reading.”

 

 

 

One could probably think it’s unfortunate that Jongdae started reading less after that.

 

Though, Jongdae itself doesn’t see it as a bad thing.  
After all, he has the right of being the protagonist of his own romance.


End file.
